


Five Times Actions Spoke Louder (And One Time They Didn't)

by Ivrigasked



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 5+1 Things, Awkward Crowley (Good Omens), Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Post-Canon, Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), Thoughtful Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-06-26 18:32:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19773961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ivrigasked/pseuds/Ivrigasked
Summary: Crowley had spent 6,000 years pining after one person. One person that he always wanted to surprise, one person he always wanted to make smile.But Aziraphale was the one person that Crowley had known during his 6,000 years on Earth that was just. So. Damn. Oblivious.





	1. Your Heart is a Library

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
> I'm so excited to finally be writing a fic for this fandom. I watched the Amazon show & then I went and picked up the book - I'm obsessed with our beloved Ineffable Husbands. 
> 
> Please enjoy!

Crowley sat quietly, although broodingly, in his usual leather armchair as Arizaphale ran inventory in the bookshop. It was a painfully dull Wednesday afternoon, and now that they no longer had to deal with their respective sides watching them post-Apocalnope, Crowley wanted to get the hell out of London and stir up some trouble elsewhere. 

However, Aziraphale had a nasty habit of actually working on weekdays and the occasional weekend, even though he never sold any books.

“Angel,” Crowley grumbled behind his magazine. 

“Yes, my dear?” Aziraphale replied without looking up from his checklist. 

“Close up the shop, let’s get lunch.” 

“Now, Crowley, you know I can’t just close up whenever I want.” 

“Yes, you can! You do it all the time, and it’s deader than hell around here, I’m bored.” 

“I’m sure your plants could use a stern talking to if you’re looking for something to do.” Arizaphale says. 

“Angel,” Crowley whines. “Don’t make me beg.” 

“You would never!” Aziraphale snorts at glances over at Crowley. “Just let me finish up, dear boy, and we’ll go.” 

“Righto.” Crowley smirks, knowing Aziraphale has no ability to resist good food. He settles back into his armchair, reveling in his small victory. 

**At lunch:**

“I’m tired of London, angel.” Crowley sighs as he takes another bite. 

“Oh?” Aziraphale gasps. “Why is that?” 

“We’ve been here for ages, I think we’ve done enough holy and unholy miracles for them, don’t you think?” 

“Oh, Crowley.” Aziraphale tuts. “What about my bookshop? I couldn’t bear to leave it behind.” 

“You’re telling me you enjoy looking at the same hundreds of books every day?” 

“Of course!” Aziraphale gapes. “I cherish them. I have dozens of timeless classics and first editions. How could anyone not enjoy that?” Crowley lowers his sunglasses just enough to throw a glance across the table at the angel, who sighs deeply. 

“I suppose,” Aziraphale starts, “That we could use a vacation.” 

“Now that’s the spirit! Where would you want to go? Anywhere you haven’t been in the last 6,000 years? Anywhere you’d like to go again?” 

“That’s such a loaded question!” The angel laughs. “I’d have to really ponder it.” 

“Well, ponder faster angel, we’re leaving Saturday.” 

“Two days! Crowley, that’s not nearly enough time to get everything settled. Who’s going to water your plants?” 

“Nobody. They wouldn’t dare die on me.” 

“I suppose that’s true…” Aziraphale mutters, bringing his fingers up to his chin. 

“You’ve already agreed, angel. Better decide where you want to go, otherwise I’m choosing.” 

“Oh, no, I’ll come up with something. You always choose Egypt.” 

“I love Egypt, what’s wrong with Egypt?” Crowley frowns. 

“Nothing! But we’ve been there so many times. There’s so many scenic countries we’ve never seen. What about Australia, or Greenland, or Canada?” 

“Canada is more of your scene rather than mine, no?” Crowley jokes. “They’re all so nice.” He grimaces. 

“Yes, Canadians are quite lovely.” 

“...Wretched.” Crowley says in unison. Aziraphale frowns at Crowley, who shrugs. “I mean yeah, real lovely bunch of blokes.” 

“Oh, dear. What about Australia? A healthy dose of both our sides down there, wouldn’t you agree?” 

“Too hot. Too much dirt.” 

“That is true.” 

“Greenland is always cold, right?” Crowley asks. 

“Not sure, I assume so since it’s so North.” 

“Eh, not in the mood for snow come to think of it. Ruins a good pair of shoes.” 

“So where then, Crowley, since you seem so against all of my ideas?” Aziraphale sighs. 

“I’ll come up with something.” Crowley shrugs, leaning back in his chair and placing his fork down. 

“Not Egypt?” Aziraphale smiles weakly. 

“No promises. Haven’t seen it since the 18th century, could be nice now.” 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale sighs again. 

“Angel, I’m only joking. Not Egypt.” Crowley says and Aziraphale releases the breath he’d been holding for dramatics. “This time.” Crowley smirks. 

“Crowley!” He slaps the demons arm. “I don’t take kindly to jokes.” 

“Oh trust me, I know.” 

* * *

Later that evening, Crowley sits at his desk with his phone to his ear, impatiently listening to the irritating buzz from the other end. As much as he hates to admit it - he needs guidance. 

“Hello?” A female voice answers. 

“Yeah, hi,” Crowley mumbles. 

“Mr. Crowley?” She says. 

“Yeah, Anathema. Drop the ‘Mr.’. I have a favor to ask.” 

“From me?” 

“Yes.” 

“Uh, okay?” 

“Aziraphale and I are going out of town.” 

“Really? That’s nice!” She sounds surprised. 

“Listen, I want to take him somewhere he’ll enjoy. He always complains when I choose where we go.” 

“So you’re asking me for...recommendations?” 

“Yes, I guess I am.” 

“Um, okay! Did he suggest where he might like to go?” 

“Ah, Canada, Australia, or Greenland.” 

“Canada is lovely. Went there a bunch as a kid.” 

“Great. Any museums or libraries around those parts?” 

“Of course they have museums and libraries, Crowley.” 

“Well?” 

“The Library of Parliament in Ottawa is pretty neat. One of the biggest in the world.” 

“Do you think he’d enjoy it?” 

“I don’t know, Crowley. You know him much better than I do. Do you think he’d enjoy it?” 

“Yes, I think he would.” 

“Then I don’t think you need much of my help.” There’s a pause. “This is very thoughtful of you.” 

“Do shut up.” Crowley grimaces and hangs up. 

* * *

The next morning, Crowley arrives at the shop right as Aziraphale is opening the blinds, and he smiles when he sees the demon exiting the Bentley. 

Before Crowley can even think to reach for the handle, the door is already swinging open, welcoming him in as per usual. 

“Good morning, darling.” Aziraphale calls as Crowley enters the dark room. He won’t admit it, but his cheeks warm slightly at the endearment. 

“Morning, angel.” He replies as he looks around the shelves for him, finding him in the back by his office. “I’ve something for you.” 

“Oh?” Aziraphale clasps his hands together in excitement. “What is it?” 

“Here,” Crowley hands Aziraphale a plane ticket. “Per your suggestion.” 

“Canada!” Aziraphale yelps. “Oh, Crowley, you’re going to hate it.” 

“At least I’ll have you there to complain about it to.” 

“What’s in Ottawa?” 

“A library.” 

“We’re going to Ottawa because of a library?” 

“It’s not just any old library, Angel. But would it matter?” Crowley frowns. 

“No, not in the slightest.” He smiles warmly, gazing softly up at Crowley. “Thank you, my dear. This is going to be wonderful.” 

“Don’t mention it.” Crowley shrugs noncommittally and stalks off to go hide yet another blush on his hollowed cheeks. 

* * *

In Canada, they visit the Library of Parliament.

Maybe Aziraphale sheds a tear. 

Maybe Crowley pretends not to feel accomplished. 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading!  
> Next chapter should be up over the weekend, if not by the beginning of next week. I’m housesitting so I have some free time!
> 
> Come follow & chat with me over on tumblr @captain-sass-pants, I’m primarily a Good Omens blog rn anyway.
> 
> See you soon!


	2. An Apprehensive Question

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley invites Aziraphale to dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're returning, HELLO!  
> If you're new, WELCOME!
> 
> Thanks so much for coming, please enjoy the chapter!

Crowley was nothing if not subtle. No,  _ really _ . He was subtle when he watched Aziraphale closely as he reshelved and reshelved and reshelved his books a million times over many millennia. He was subtle when he tempted him to breakfasts and lunches and dinners on a regular if not overly frequent occasion. He was  _ very _ subtle when he watched the angel devour the food with all the love and appreciation someone would have for their first born child. 

It was always ”Exquisite,” and “That was utterly divine,” and even “I must personally thank the chef,”

Not that it wasn’t just simply captivating to watch Aziraphale enjoy something so thoroughly, but Crowley wasn’t satisfied. He was shamefully envious of the chefs and the other kitchen staff. Envious of the praise they were showered with. Granted, Azirphale showered him with different kinds of affections, such as scolding him for his choice of plant maintenance, complaining about his driving, and trying and failing to bring colorful pillows over and leave them on Crowley’s couch. 

As per usual, Crowley needed to devise a plan so evil, so sinister, so unholy, that Aziraphale would say “How wonderful, Crowley,” “You’re so exquisite, Crowley” and “How thoughtful, and personal and considerate, Crowley,”. 

“You’ve been spending an awful lot of time with that Ms. Device, Crowley.” Aziraphale said out of the blue one evening while drinking tea and reading Charles Dickens, sitting on the other side of the couch adjacent the demon. 

“Eh?” Crowley pretended not to hear. “Uh yeah it’s—uh her magic—ah, she’s fun, dark and spooky, you know I like that lot.” 

“Yes, I know. I just thought you found her irritating, though I’m happy you’ve warmed up to her. I think her and young Mr. Pulsifer are delightfully charming.” 

“You would, Angel.” Crowley smirks. 

“Can I go with you next time? It’s been quite some time since I’ve seen them. I still have their engagement gift.” 

“Oh uh—Sure, angel, yeah.” 

“Oh, dear.” Aziraphale gasps and his eyes go wide. “Have I overstepped? My sincerest apologies, Crowley, I didn’t realize—“ 

“What?” Crowley interrupted him. “No, angel, it’s fine. Usually Anathema and I get together and work on—uh—something I think she’d rather keep a secret for now—uh—you know something for Pulsifer, so you know—but I’m sure she’d be more than pleased to make an exception for a change.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure.” 

“Okay, good. Good. Thank you, my dear.” 

* * *

Later that week, at the cottage: 

“You told him we were working on something in secret?” Anathema whispers to Crowley as they watch Aziraphale and Newt play with Adam and the Them. “Newt’s going to be all up in my hair about this, you know.” 

“What was I supposed to tell him? That he couldn’t come?” 

“You could have just been honest with him.” Anathema sighs. 

“It’s not that simple. It’d go something like ‘Oi, sorry angel, can’t come with because the witch is teaching me the very confusing art of crafting your own food that isn’t miracled into existence so that I can cook a meal for you,’” 

“That sounds fine.” Anathema shrugs. 

“I don’t want him to know I’m learning how to cook, you daft—“ 

“Hey, look. All I’m saying is it’s really sweet—“ 

“Not sweet,” Crowley mutters. 

“It’s really  _ thoughtful _ , for you to take the time to learn something like this for him, Crowley. I’m sure he’d be elated whether it was a surprise or not.” 

“Yeah, whatever, it’s fine. I’m not telling him. You’re clever, you can handle your own fiancé.” Crowley says, waving a hand lazily at her. 

“Well I hope you gain the courage to actually cook for him before I die.” 

“You’re in your twenties,” Crowley grumbles and looks over at her. 

“Yes but I have a feeling it’ll take you another thousand years to invite him over for dinner. Unfortunately humans don’t live that long, a fact of which you’re fully aware.” 

“Yes, fine, I’ll invite him over next week.” 

“You sure?” Anathema raises her eyebrows at him. “That’s so soon.” 

“Oh, shut up. I’ll do it right now,” Crowley hisses and rises up from the bench. He begins to walk toward the angel before stopping short, quickly turning around, and walking back towards Anathema. “Will you do it for me?” He asks nervously. 

“Crowley!” Anathema gapes, and kicks him in the shin. 

* * *

Crowley isn’t shy, no no, and he’s not anxious, definitely not. He just likes to get things right, and isn’t fond of unpredictability, and Aziraphale, a divine being, is so blissfully aloof sometimes that Crowley isn’t even sure he’d understand the connotation behind him asking him over for dinner and—the phones ringing. 

“Fuck,” Crowley whispers. He doesn’t move. And he doesn’t answer it. He just stares at it, unwavering, waiting for the voicemail to kick in. It does. 

“Yes, good evening Crowley this is your friend Aziraphale, just ringing you to see if you wanted to fetch dinner later, I’m just finishing up organizing my files and I’m feeling a bit peckish. Call me back, okay, goodbye!” 

“Fuck,” Crowley says again, but this time far more exasperated than before. It’s fine. He’ll call him back...eventually. 

Crowley wanders around his flat, aimlessly really, looking for something to distract him from the voicemail. The plants have been threatened, the windows and countertops and mirrors are sparking; there’s simply nothing else for him to do. 

The demon settles down into the armchair at his desk and stares at the phone. It’s only 5 o’clock. He could have dinner ready by 7, easily. 

He looks at the phone. Again. It’s beginning to look more menacing the longer he stares, so he picks it up abruptly, forcing it against his ear, and wills it to dial the bookshop. Aziraphale answers on the second ring. 

“Crowley?” 

“How’d you know?” 

“Because I don’t get phone calls from anybody else.” 

“Oh,” Crowley frowns. 

“Are you calling about dinner?” 

“Uh, yeah. About that—“ 

“Oh you’re busy!” Aziraphale gasps. “I’m sorry, I should have suspected when you didn’t answer.” 

“No, I’m not busy. Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask you--” 

“No it’s fine, Crowley! I’ll just go--” 

“Angel,” Crowley says as Aziraphale continues muttering on the other line. “ _ Angel _ ,” 

“What?” Aziraphale stops. 

“Come over,” Crowley tells him, trying not to sound too gruff. There’s a pause. 

“Right now?” Aziraphale asks, surprise in his voice. 

“Around seven.” 

“Why, what’s at seven?” 

“You’ll see.” 

“Oh, okay. I’ll just go nab something quick and hurry right over.” 

“No, Angel, don’t eat.” 

“Don’t eat? Whatever do you mean, dear boy--”

“I’m cooking for a change.” Crowley says, exasperated. 

“You’re--what?! You don’t know how to cook, Crowley, you’re--” 

“Are you coming or not?” Crowley asks. The line is quiet for a moment, and then he hears a small chuckle. 

“Yes. Yes, I’m coming. I’ll see you soon.” Aziraphale replies. 

“Good,” Crowley says, then hangs up without saying goodbye. 

When the angel arrives, the house is warm with the aroma of a 3 course meal, carefully and cautiously prepared by one grumpy demon. Who somehow managed to not cut himself, and somehow also managed to not overcook the lamb. So things went pretty swimmingly, all things considered. 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale gapes when he walks into the kitchen from the foyer. “What have you done?”

Crowley turns, grinning cheekily, his eyes visible as he ditched the sunglasses an hour ago. “I made dinner, angel.” 

“I’m blown away, it smells divine.” Aziraphale whispers before inhaling and closing his eyes. 

There it is.

“Thank you,” Crowley’s smile softens. “It took some practice and quite a bit of help from one secretive young witch.” 

“Is this what you two have been working on? Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I wanted to surprise you.” 

“Oh, well consider me surprised. I’m famished, can I help you set the table?” 

“Already done, but there’s a bottle of wine there if you’d like to open it.” 

“Done and done.” Aziraphale smiles, gliding around the counter to grab the bottle. 

Crowley brings the rack of lamb into the dining room, followed closely by the angel with the wine. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale near-whispers as he sits down at the table across from Crowley. 

“Yes, angel?” 

“You didn’t have to do this.” 

“Why not? I wanted to.” 

“Well,” Arizphale smiles. “I’m glad you did.” 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so much for reading.   
> Comments and kudos make my day, I love them.
> 
> If you wanna come yell/hang out/chat with me on tumblr, you can follow me @captain-sass-pants or on twitter @cold-ramen
> 
> Thanks again, and see you soon!


	3. I’ll Just Do It Myself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bookshop gets an upgrade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back!  
> Your comments & love have been wonderful and an absolute joy to read and reply to. I’m so happy that you’re all enjoying this fic as much as I am. 
> 
> Enjoy!

If there was one thing that was important to Crowley, over anything else, it was cleanliness. Not so much in the sense of sparkling window panes and polished floors, but just a basic lack of clutter. There were so many people, and so much grime, and a blatant lack of cleanliness downstairs in hell that on Earth, Crowley strived for a neat, polished-but stylish- and decluttered home design. 

If there was one thing about Aziraphale’s bookshop that drove Crowley absolutely mad, it was the clutter. He knew the angel didn’t have enough space and storage to fit all his perfectly minted first editions and various other complete collections, memoirs, and picture books, but Crowley knew that something had to give. Whether the bookshop needed some TLC or a complete overhaul, it needed to be done - and soon. 

It was a Monday, and Crowley was sprawled casually on Aziraphale’s couch in the flat above the bookshop just as he usually was, and Aziraphale was making tea for them in the kitchen. The windows were open and the birds were chirping; it was overall, a lovely afternoon. Crowley looked on as Aziraphale busied himself with cups and saucers, doting over the tiny spoons and the cubes of sugar. 

When finished, he brings a cup over to Crowley, who sits up to take it. “Angel,” Crowley says. 

“Yes, dear?” He asks as he walks around and sits stiffly into the armchair across from the couch. 

“Do you think it’s time for your annual reorganization?” Crowley asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“Pardon?” Aziraphale stops.. “Reorganization of what?” 

“The bookshop.” Crowley says. “It’s been awhile.” 

“The bookshop? Why? Is it starting to look bad?”

“No, no, no.” Crowley scoffs. “It’s just...overwhelming.” 

“Well not every place can be as pristine as your flat, Crowley.” 

“That’s not what I said.” 

“It was implied.” 

“I didn’t mean to make it sound like that, angel-you know-” Crowley pauses and sighs. “I know you keep it messy so that people are less likely to want to look around, but wouldn’t you rather all the books have their own place on display rather than in random stacks around the room?” 

“Well, I suppose I would.” Aziraphale blinks, tapping his fingers against his teacup. “It really has been over a decade since I’ve moved some of them, they could probably use the attention…” 

“I’ll help you, if you like.” Crowley says nonchalantly, and it makes Aziraphale stop. 

“You?” Aziraphale laughs incredulously. “You’d help me reorganize the bookshop?” 

“Sure, why not? Could be fun.” 

“I’ve known you for six thousand years and not once have you ever expressed an interest in my books. I’ve never seen you read anything other than a magazine, Crowley.”

“Yeah, I don’t read. But you don’t read the books when you fix them up, do you?” 

“Well sometimes I get distracted and--”

“Angel, no.” Crowley sighs. 

“Angel, yes?” Aziraphale laughs shyly. “Sometimes I forget what I have! I just have so many!” 

“Well, forget it, then. Forget I offered.” Crowley shrugs and rises from the couch. He can feel Aziraphale’s eyes as he heads into the kitchen, but he doesn’t turn around. “I just thought it would make for a nice afternoon.” 

“A nice afternoon?” Aziraphale gasps and rises, following Crowley into the kitchen. He set his cup down on the counter with a clatter, and Crowley turns. 

“Yeah. What of it?” Crowley shrugs again, but doesn’t meet the angel’s eyes. 

“What are you up to?” Aziraphale asks him, narrowing his gaze. 

“Nothing,” Crowley hisses. “I’m bored of this. All I was doing was offering to help, but I can clearly see it’s not wanted. Goodnight, angel.” 

“Crowley don’t be silly, it's only three pm!” Aziraphale shouts after the demon as he stalks out of the flat. He can hear Crowley’s finely polished shoes hit the hardwood as he trudged down the stairs and out of the bookshop. 

* * *

On Friday, after not speaking to the angel for three days, Crowley’s phone rings. And rings. And rings. When the answering machine finally picks up, Crowley can hear the tell-tale sound of the angel’s stammering coming through the line. 

“Good--Good morning, Crowley. It’s your friend Aziraphale. I’m calling to let you know that I’m heading up to Tadfield this morning to get Adam and his friends out of Anathema’s hair for a couple of hours while she and Mr. Pulsifer sit down with their wedding planner. I’d enjoy it very much if you came along with me, but I also understand if you’re still upset.” 

Crowley rolls his eyes. 

“Anyway,” Aziraphale continues through the phone. “I’ll be leaving at nine-thirty so be sure to give me a ring if you’d like to tag along. Okay, goodbye!” 

“Upset,” Crowley spits. “I’m not upset. Why would I be upset? It’s not my bloody shop that’s all dusty and moldy.” 

Crowley sits at his desk for awhile, pondering a trip to Tadfield. He’d been around those parts quite a few times in the last few weeks, what with all the secret planning and scheming with Anathema, so he’d rather stay home and yell at plants or perhaps turn slimy men into birds at the park. 

So he doesn’t call the angel back. Nine-thirty comes and goes, and as the sun rises higher in the sky, Crowley sprouts an idea. 

He practically sprints downstairs and out onto the pavement where the Bentley is parked, and it roars to life as he climbs inside. The drive over to the bookshop is less than five minutes, especially with the way he drives, and when he arrives, the windows are dark. Perfect. Angel isn’t home yet, so he has some time to execute his plan. 

  


Three pm rolls around and Crowley is putting the finishing touches on the bookshop as the door swings open gingerly. 

“Hello?” A familiar voice calls into the shop. “If you’re going to rob me, may I make some suggestions about which books to take?” 

“I’m not going to rob you, angel.” Crowley replies as he saunters into view from behind one of the now dust free, perfectly alphabetized bookshelves. 

“Crowley?” Aziraphale gasps. “What is this?” 

“You didn’t seem too keen on the idea of me helping you with the bookshop so I took the lead and did it myself.”

“I don’t understand, Crowley…” Aziraphale says, shaking his head. “ _Why_?” 

“Because I could. Because I wanted to. And for some unknown reason all the dust was giving me allergies.” 

“So you cleaned my shop?” 

“Not just cleaned, angel, no no.” Crowley scoffs. “I organized them alphabetically by author, and then by title. Everything has a place, surprisingly. I added additional shelves towards the back, included some armchairs, and some stylish antique lamps. Anything too dear to your heart has been squirreled away in your office.” 

“Crowley, you shouldn’t have. This is too much,” Aziraphale gawks. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“You would have eventually done it yourself. I’ve seen you do it enough times over the years.” 

“Well, yes, probably. But not nearly as well or as aesthetically pleasing as you have.” 

“Don’t flatter me, angel.”

“You should have taken up interior design.” Aziraphale smirks. “It suits you.” 

“Oh, stop it.” Crowley smiles. “Don’t have the time.” 

“And why not?” 

“What fun would life be if I wasn’t constantly bothering you?” Crowley replies sharply. 

Aziraphale laughs. “It would be very boring indeed.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so much for reading.  
> Comments are always greatly appreciated, I LOVE knowing what you all think.  
> See you next time!


	4. Near-Miss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A potential break-in stirs the pot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeeeello!  
> Welcome back!  
> The comments on the last chapter were amazing. I love that you guys love, the dynamic I've created for the characters. I know that I make Az a bit more timid than he is in the show and the book, but that's 'cause I like a big tough-guy Crowley protecting his angel. 
> 
> Without further ado-please enjoy this chapter!

Aziraphale had pretty good luck when it came to theft. The bookshop was uninviting, in an unusual part of town, and had such erratic hours of operation, that it made it increasingly difficult for people to rob him, even if they really put in the effort. 

Which is why, on one particularly average evening, Aziraphale was absolutely stunned to near-death when he and Crowley returned to the bookshop after dinner to find the front windows smashed in. 

“Oh, oh no.” Aziraphale gasped, dashing away from Crowley as the shop came into view. “Oh no, Crowley! Someone broke into my shop!” 

“I can see that, Aziraphale.” Crowley replies, his leather shoes crunching in the broken glass as he catches up to the angel. 

“Oh dear, I hope they didn’t take anything too great of value. We were only gone an hour!” Aziraphale cries. 

“Take a breath, angel. Let’s go inside and assess the damage,” Crowley says, resting a hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder. The angel spins suddenly, gripping the demon's hand. 

“What if they’re still inside?” He whispers. “They could be dangerous.” 

“More dangerous than me? Don't insult me, angel.” 

“This is no time for jokes, Crowley. I’m being serious.” Aziraphale frowns. 

“So was I!” Crowley near-shouts, causing Aziraphale to jump. 

“Fine, fine, you can go in but I’m staying out here.” 

“Oh, no you’re not.” Crowley rolls his eyes. “Just stay behind me and I’ll protect you from whatever filthy human decided to ruin our night.” 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whines, grasping at his lapel. “Please be careful.” 

“It’ll be fine, just watch my back.” 

“Oh, yes, okay.” 

Aziraphale unlocks the door and follows Crowley inside the dark shop that looks no less neat and tidy than it did when they left, except for the broken glass scattered all around the hardwood. 

“Anybody in here?” Crowley calls out into the dark. The shop is silent, except for Aziraphale’s rapid breathing. 

“That’s subtle, Crowley,” he whispers. “A thief is definitely going to answer you.” 

“Do you mind? Your sass is not helping.” Crowley turns, narrowing his eyes at the angel over the rim of his shades. 

“Yes, you’re right, sorry.” 

“Maybe they’re upstairs?” Crowley says and listens intently for the sound of footsteps in the flat above. 

The two look around for a few minutes - Crowley looking for a person, and Aziraphale taking mental inventory. 

They meet again in the middle of the shop, both coming up short. 

“There’s no one here.” Crowley says. Aziraphale nods and his frown deepens, creasing the soft section of skin between his eyebrows. 

“Yes, it seems they've gone. It also seems as though they didn’t take anything.” 

“Really?” Crowley asks, raising his eyebrows. “Bad thief. Did a horrible job.” 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale shrieks and slaps Crowley on the arm. “What did I say about jokes?” 

“Thought I’d lighten the mood?” Crowley shrugs. He looks around, at the ground, and then back up to the windows. “Well, are you going to fix the windows or shall I?” 

“Oh, I’ll do it.” Aziraphale sighs and waves a hand at Crowley. “Go make some tea or something.” 

“Are you sure you want to be left alone? What if the thief is hiding in the armchair?” 

“Oh, don’t tease me, Crowley! Just go! Go upstairs!” 

Crowley hisses playfully and saunters towards the stairs. 

Several minutes later, Aziraphale comes up the stairs with a huff. Crowley is sprawled on the couch, legs dangling over the armrest, drinking whiskey. 

“How’d it go?” He asks nonchalantly, extending another glass to him. 

“Fine,” he frowns and stops in the doorway. “That doesn’t look like tea.” 

“Figured you could use something stronger,” Crowley smiles wickedly. Aziraphale smirks and shakes his head. 

“Why am I surprised?” 

“Surprised by what, angel?” 

“That you know me so well.” He replies, taking the glass and sinking down into the couch by Crowley’s head. 

“Six millennia will do that to a person.” Crowley says, looking up at him. 

“I suppose you’re right.” Aziraphale nods. “So, why do you think someone would break my windows but not take anything?” 

“Maybe it was just some wiley children throwing rocks?” Crowley shrugs. 

“Did you put them up to it?” Aziraphale asks and Crowley starts at the question. 

“Angel,” Crowley says, sitting up. “You think I would do that?” 

“I don’t know Crowley. I know how you enjoy your pranks.” 

“Pranks? I would never prank you.” Crowley stammers. “I mean, I would, but not like this. I prank you harmlessly. I wouldn’t tempt some local children to break the windows and risk you actually getting robbed.” 

Aziraphale looks at Crowley silently for awhile, before shutting his eyes and leaning his head back. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t.” Aziraphale sighs. “I was so worried. The shop has never been broken into before.” 

“I know.” 

“I’m grateful that nothing was taken. I don’t know what I would have done if something was missing.” 

“Oh,” Crowley snorts. “I would have gotten it back for you.” 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale sighs again, exasperated. 

“No, listen, angel. I’m very resourceful.” 

“Yes I know that—“

“If they took anything - A coaster, a bookmark, a bible, I don’t care.” 

“Crowley, stop,” 

“Humans are stupid. They go home after they steal shit.” 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale shouts. 

“What?” 

“Why do you do that?” 

“Do what?” Crowley asks. 

“Help me.” Aziraphale murmurs. 

“Angel,” Crowley sighs. He takes off his glasses and presses two fingers to the bridge of his nose. 

“No, really, I want to know.” Aziraphale says, gazing at him, searching. 

“Because—“ Crowley grimaces. “Because you’re my best friend.” 

“Are you sure?” Aziraphale narrows his gaze. 

“Do you think I’m lying?” 

“I don’t know, Crowley. I’ve never known how to read you.” 

“I think I’m pretty easy to read, actually.” 

“I beg to differ. For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve been an escapist.” 

“Escapist!” Crowley laughs. “That’s a new one.” 

“I’m serious, Crowley.” 

“You’re always serious, Aziraphale.” Crowley pouts sarcastically and lays back down, his hair brushing Azirpahale’s leg. 

“Not always. But really, you love to avoid serious conversations.” 

“Yes, that is true.” 

“And you never give me a straight answer about anything.” 

“What? I just answered you. I said you’re my best friend.” 

“But is that true?” 

“Really?” Crowley gapes. 

“It’s not that I doubt you—“

“Sounds a lot like doubt to me.” 

“Crowley,” 

“Aziraphale, look.” Crowley sighs. He groans as he sits up, setting his glass down on the nearby table. “We’ve had our differences, yeah. But you’re the only person I’d spend 6,000 years on this bloody planet with.”

“Really?” Aziraphale gasps, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth. 

“Oh, for Hell’s sake, angel. I’m not going to say it again.” Crowley growls. “I’m leaving.” 

Crowley stands, grabbing his glass and emptying it before snatching his glasses from the arm of the couch and replacing them upon his nose. 

“Crowley, don’t be ridiculous. There’s no reason for you to go.”

“No, it’s fine, it’s getting late. Thanks for dinner, Aziraphale.” Crowley says as he makes for the stairs. 

“No, Crowley, wait.” Aziraphale snaps, reaching to grab Crowley’s arm. “You’re not leaving.” 

“Oh?” Crowley turns, eyebrows raised in surprise. 

“Well--I mean--just yet.” Aziraphale stutters, a rosy tint dusting his cheeks. “We’re going to sit down, drink more of my fine whiskey, and try to get to the bottom of this window mystery. I can’t solve it alone. I need your help.” 

“Oh, alright.” Crowley smirks. “I’ll stay. But it’s for the whiskey.” 

“Fine, good, yes.” Aziraphale nods. He then releases the demons arm, which he’d forgotten he’d been holding. Another blush lights up his face, and he turns back around to sit down again. 

“Feeling warm, angel?” Crowley asks, his grin of the shit-eating variety. 

“What? Uh, no. I’m fine. It’s the whiskey.” Aziraphale answers, avoiding Crowley’s gaze. 

“Sure.” Crowley replies, walking back into the room and joining the angel once again on the couch. “So,” He starts, “Windows?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading.  
> If you feel so inclined, please leave a comment letting me know what you think!  
> I love reading them, and I'm usually quick to reply if you ever have questions!
> 
> Also: Feel free to come hang out with me on tumblr @captain-sass-pants or on Twitter @cold-ramen
> 
> Next chapter should be up by the end of the week. 
> 
> Thanks again!


	5. Almost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley comes to terms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeeello! Welcome back! 
> 
> Thank you so much for the love you gave the last chapter! This chapter is a liiiittle bit longer than the last 4, because I really loved writing the conversation Crowley has with Anathema, and I wanted to get it right. Also, posting a bit earlier than I was planning to because my weekend is starting to look a bit busier than I'd thought it would. 
> 
> Please enjoy, and let me know what you think!
> 
> p.s. I'm American, if that wasn't clear by my spelling, so I'm super sorry if things are spelled funny or it's lacking in British slang. It's really because I just don't really know it??? Thanks for understanding!

It was an unusually sunny morning in London, and Anathema had somehow, probably involving witchcraft, managed to get Crowley out of his flat at 8 am to shop for wedding gowns. Of course, being that she was young and thin and beautiful, every dress she tried on looked like it was made just for her. But Crowley couldn’t help but wonder, why did she ask him to come, rather than their friendly neighborhood angel? 

“Crowley,” Anathema shouts. “Hello? Thoughts?” She asks, running her hands down the ballgown with a flourish. 

“Too poofy,” Crowley mutters. “Not your style.” 

“Agreed.” She frowns, looking down at him from the pedestal. “Is something bothering you? You seem distracted.” 

“Nothing is bothering me.” 

“Okay, well could you put a bit more effort into this, perhaps? I asked you to come because I need your harsh opinions.” 

“Ah, so that’s why you asked me rather than Aziraphale. He’s real gutted about this, you know.” 

“Oh, he’ll be fine,” She waves a hand dismissively. “You and I both know he’d shower me with compliments and be no help at all.” Anathema scoffs. They share a chuckle at the expense of their angel, and Anathema shuffles ungracefully back to her dressing room. 

“Hey, I meant to ask you about that, by the way,” She says from behind the curtain. 

“About what?” Crowley scowls. 

“About you and Aziraphale. How’s that going?” She asks, reappearing, wearing a fitted floral number. 

“I beg your pardon?” Crowley sits up, startled by the question. 

“What? Why do you sound surprised? You guys have been on Earth together for six thousand years. Don’t you think you should be the one trying on tuxedos?” 

“I beg _your_ _pardon_?!” Crowley gasps. 

“Are you...angry?” Anathema gapes, shaking her head. “I’m so confused.” 

“ _ You’re _ confused?” Crowley rises, and runs a hand through his hair and begins to pace around the small suite. “Are you under the impression that we’re  _ together _ ?” 

“Um, yes? Because you fawn over him like he hung all the stars --which he had some part in, I’m sure--and you’re literally  _ always with him _ .” 

“How many people think this?” Crowley asks. 

“Everyone.” Anathema states. Crowley freezes mid-pace, and stares at her. 

“This is--I can’t--” Crowley begins to panic, this time bringing both hands up to grip his auburn locks in despair. 

“Hey, Crowley, breathe,” Anathema whispers, stepping off the pedestal and walking over to him. She brings her hands up to his shoulders, gripping tightly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. You’re just so open with your affections that we all just assumed--”

“ _ Open with my affections _ ?” Crowley shrieks. “I didn’t realize I  _ had affections _ .” 

“What?” Anathema shakes her head. “Crowley, you get dinner at the Ritz together twice a week, sometimes more. He knows how you take your tea, he bought a new couch just for you to lounge on, and a month ago you needed my help so that you could  _ make dinner for him _ . Anyone with eyes and two functioning brain cells would assume that you’re a couple.” Crowley scowls down at her, and then walks over to gaze longingly out the window for a beat. 

“Do you think Aziraphale thinks we’re a couple?” 

“I don’t know, Crowley. You talk so fondly of each other it’s impossible to tell.” 

“I’m a demon, Anathema! He’s an angel!” 

“Yes, I--I know, but--”

“This is ridiculous,” Crowley sighs, walking back to the bench and sitting down with a huff. 

“But...is it out of the question?” 

“Is what out of the question?” Crowley looks up. 

“Being in a relationship? Being together--with him?” 

“Yes, they would kill us. Smite us both where we stand if we so much as shared a crisp high-five.” 

“That’s not true.” 

“It is.” 

“No, it’s not. If that were the case, then they’d have smote...smited...smite?--I don’t know,” She shakes her head again. “They’d have killed you a hundred times by now.” 

“What? When?” Crowley frowns, glaring at the girl. 

“Example one, when for winter solstice you guys came over and you fell asleep on my couch with your head on his shoulder.” Anathema tallies on her fingers. “Example two, every time he rests a hand on your knee and asks you if you want something to drink. Example three, four, five, six, and seven, every time I’ve seen you adjust each other’s wardrobe before walking into a crowded, unfamiliar place. Example eight, when you called me to ask me for advice on where to take him on  _ vacation _ \--”

“Okay, I get it, you can stop now.” Crowley says, exasperated. 

“I swear, I’ve never seen you so anxious about anything, I mean Crowley  _ really _ , you’re not subtle.”

“I just--I wanted to take my time with this.” Crowley sighs. 

“And you haven’t been?” 

“I don’t know,” Crowley sighs. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous about the outcome.”

“Ha! I knew it.” Anathema yelps. 

“Don’t get too excited, kiddo. This could crash and burn just like everything else in my life.” 

“I have a feeling it won’t.” Anathema smirks. 

“I like this one.” Crowley nods, looking at her carefully. 

“Yeah, I know you like him, duh--” Anathema rolls her eyes. 

“No--for Hell’s sake--the dress, Anathema. I like it. Florals suit you.” 

“Huh, I guess I like this one too.” She smiles into the mirror, and does one quick twirl. “Excuse me?” She calls an attendant. “Do you have this in black?” 

* * *

Anathema, had a point. A very well backed-up, researched, and obvious, point. Crowley had spent decades--no, centuries--trying to win the favor of the angel. Little did he know, he might have already done it. But he certainly didn’t think it’d had gone far enough for people to think they were actually a couple. Let alone a couple that had been together for  _ 6,000 years _ . 

Crowley needed to think fast, make a plan, and execute it. He’s playing the long game, after all. Was it time to tell Aziraphale how he felt, and how he’d been feeling, for several thousand years? 

“No,” Crowley snorts and shakes his head. He’s driving home, alone with his thoughts, and letting them stew. He should just keep making tiny attempts at dates and maybe in another 100 years he’ll have the courage. That’s a good plan. 

Even though it’s not. For now, he will keep inviting Aziraphale to dinners, movies, small vacations, and various other seemingly innocent activities totally normal for two celestial beings disguised as grown men to do by themselves. Totally. 

* * *

The following week, Crowley finds himself in possession of two tickets to the opera, after a mutual acquaintance (Anathema) and her fiancé (Newton) had to cancel due to sudden illness (Anathema scheming and thinking he and Aziraphale would enjoy it more) and it left Crowley in a position of advantage. 

Aziraphale loved the theatre and anything to do with it. Visiting the theatre during the Elizabethan Era had been a favorite pastime of his, and it’s something he knew the angel missed dearly. 

So, Crowley arrived at the shop at a sharp 7 pm on Saturday, practically danced up to the door, and swung it open with added exuberance. The warmth of the familiar space wrapped around him like a wool blanket, clinging to his clothes and settling into his bones. 

“Hello?” Crowley called when the angel didn’t appear to be in sight. “Aziraphale?” He called again. When no response came, he figured the angel was bopping around upstairs, doing who-knows-what to kill the time. 

“I could just up and steal any of these books, you know! Wouldn’t be the first time I’d thought about it!” Crowley tries, again, to no avail. He marches pointedly up the stairs to the flat above, and goes for the knob. It’s locked. 

“This isn’t funny, angel, I don’t have all night!” He yells into the door. 

“All night for what?” A voice says from behind, at the bottom of the stairs. “Crowley, what are you doing?” 

“What am  _ I  _ doing? What are  _ you _ doing?” Crowley asks as he walks back down the steps. 

“I went for a stroll, the weather’s lovely. Did you need something?” 

“You went for a walk and left the shop unlocked?” 

“It wasn’t unlocked. You’re just allowed in.” Aziraphale says, a smile teasing the corners of his lips.

“ _ Oh _ ,” Crowley responds, realizing.

“Care for a spot of tea?” Aziraphale asks, turning away from Crowley and shucking off his coat. 

“Actually, no. We have plans.” 

“We do? I don’t remember making plans.” 

“Surprise plans.” 

“Surprise plans?” Aziraphale frowns, bemused. 

Crowley smirks knowingly, then produces the tickets from his back pocket. “A gift, from Anathema and Newt.” 

“What?” Aziraphale gasps and snatches the tickets from Crowley’s fingers. “Wow,” he whispers. “These are very excellent seats.” 

“You wouldn’t even need your binoculars.” Crowley replies quietly as Aziraphale stares at the tickets. 

“But they add so much to the ambiance.” Aziraphale laughs. 

Crowley smiles. “Yes, they’re very stylish. Big fan.” 

“It’s starting soon, Crowley.” Aziraphale says, his expression falling. 

“Well it’s a good thing that you came back when you did and that I happen to drive fast.” 

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale groans and it makes Crowley cackle wickedly as they walk to the Bentley. 

* * *

They find their seats easily, miraculously at one of the balconies, and settle in to get comfortable before the show begins. 

“Oh, shame, we’re farther than I thought.” Aziraphale sighs, looking down at the stage.. Crowley doesn’t reply. Instead, he pulls two perfectly shiny new pairs of binoculars from his coat pockets and presents one of them to the angel. 

“Oh,  _ Crowley _ ,” Aziraphale laughs. “So well prepared.” 

“Hate being unprepared.” Crowley smirks. 

“Don’t I know it.” Aziraphale smiles fondly, taking them. “I’m very excited. It was very generous of Anathema and Newton to gift these tickets to us.”

Crowley nods and fidgets, sitting up straighter. “Yeah, they’re great.” He swallows hard. “So listen, angel, there’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about.” 

“Hmm?” Aziraphale turns to look at Crowley, frowning. Before Crowley has a chance to speak, the house lights dim, casting them into darkness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Thank you so much for reading! Only one chapter left, and there's so many questions!  
> Will Crowley tell Aziraphale how he feels? Will the opera ruin everything?? Will Anathema and Newt actually get married? 
> 
> Find out, NEXT TIME~!
> 
> See ya soon!


	6. Your Love Could Start a War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Truth comes out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay! I could lie and say that it was because I was busy, but in all honesty, I was having some trouble finishing this chapter. I wasn't sure exactly how I wanted it to end, but I eventually buckled down and wrote it out. I hope the end product is satisfying enough! 
> 
> I'm sad that this fic is ending, but I know so many of you have enjoyed it throughout the few weeks it took from start-finish, and so will some of the people who will drop by once it's done. 
> 
> Thank you for your continued support, kind comments, and wonderful kudos. You're all amazing, I adore you. Thank you so much. 
> 
> Without any further ado - please enjoy the final chapter.

Crowley waited. After the opera, he didn’t have an opportunity to tell Aziraphale how he felt. It didn’t feel right to him to sit down and make it feel like an emotional intervention, so he kept it to himself and went about his business. Months went by without any mention of it, Crowley even avoided Anathema to the best of his ability despite her upcoming nuptials. Feelings weren’t something Crowley thought about, let alone thought he even possessed, he just functioned the way he wanted to and thought nothing of it. Little did he know, that led to everyone thinking he was in a relationship with his best friend. 

After the opera, Crowley dropped Aziraphale off at home and went straight back to his own flat. He lay awake all night, staring up at the dark ceiling, wondering how on Earth he was going to get through the rest of his life, living near Aziraphale, living in London, being around the one person he cares about most, without spilling all of his secrets. So from that point forward, he kept his head down, didn’t go out of his way to make plans, and kept his true feelings under wraps. 

Unluckily for him, after months of radio silence, the Angel was starting to notice something was off. He called on Wednesday, three days before Anathema and Newt’s wedding. 

“Hello?” Crowley answered casually. 

“Crowley, finally. Are you finished screening my calls?” 

“Screening your calls? I would never.” 

“You have, and you are.” Aziraphale says sternly. “Either way, it doesn’t matter. I’m calling about something else.” 

“Well go on then,” Crowley replies. 

“Are we carpooling to Anathema and Newt’s wedding, or not? Because if you’re angry with me then I’ll find another way to get there.” 

“Angry with you? I’m not angry with you.” 

“I’m not stupid, Crowley. I know distance when I see it. You’ve been avoiding me for months—I’ve hardly seen you since the opera. If you don’t want to tell me what’s bothering you, that’s fine, but I do need to know if I need to find another ride.” 

“No, Aziraphale, please,” Crowley sighs, taking off his glasses and squeezing the bridge of his nose. “I’m not mad at you. It’s...it’s something else.” 

“Well, what’s the matter then?” 

“It’s—I can’t. I don’t want to talk about it over the phone.” Crowley mutters. He hears a huff on the other line, before a shuffling noise. 

“Fine, Crowley, I’ll see you Saturday.” Aziraphale says, and then hangs up. 

**Saturday:**

The wedding was beautiful. They hosted it at Anathema and Newt’s cottage in order to save money, and it worked well considering they didn’t have much family between the two of them. 

The ceremony was short and sweet, with the young couple sharing sickeningly adorable vows, and they left most of the audience with watery eyes. 

Later, during the reception, things felt...off. Everyone was dancing, drinking, and laughing, except for two celestial beings that were pouting, in two separate corners of the outdoor tent.

Anathema had noticed the strange feeling, seeing as that she’d spent a fair amount of time around them, and could be seen watching them from her table, despite being newly married. 

“What’s the matter?” Newt asked in a hushed tone. 

Anathema groaned. Then, “It’s Crowley and Aziraphale. Something’s amiss.” 

“Amiss? How so?” Newt frowned and lifted his gaze from Anathema’s face to scan the room, soon finding Crowley indeed sulking in the back. “Oh, I see.” 

“Months back, I told you how Crowley and I had that conversation about his relationship with Aziraphale, right?” Anathema asked. 

“Yes, I remember.” Newt nodded. 

“Well, I think I scared him. I don’t think he’s spoken to Aziraphale much since.” 

“Didn’t they come together?” 

“No,” 

“That’s strange. Maybe they’re just on the outs? I’m not sure it concerns us.” 

“But they’re our friends.” Anathema sighed. “Imagine how awkward Winter Solstice will be if they don’t patch things up.” 

“Our friends are possibly fighting, their relationship on the rocks, and you’re concerned about Winter Solstice?” 

“...yes?” 

“Jesus, Ana. Go talk to them or something if you’re so concerned.” Newt sighed, running a hand down his face. 

Anathema smirked, kissed his cheek, and then rose from her chair. “I’m going to,” she said before practically skipping away from him. She approached Crowley quietly, cautiously, hoping that his mood wasn’t as sour as his expression. 

“Great party, not nearly as witchy as I’d imagined it being.” Crowley remarked when she was in earshot. 

She laughed, “Newt had too much say. If it were up to me, it wouldn’t be nearly as bright in here.”

“How’s marriage treating you?” Crowley asked, sounding genuine. 

“Just fine, thus far. How’re you?” 

“I’m not here to talk about me, kid.” 

“No, but I am.” Anathema grinned. 

“Then you’re going to have to be more specific.” 

“How’re things with Aziraphale? Not good I assume, since you’re both sulking at a wedding.” 

“Been spying, have you?” 

“It’s not like either of you are trying to hide it.” 

“There’s nothing to hide.” 

“I don’t even know why you try lying to me, Crowley. I can see right through you. Both of you.” 

“Then go chat about it with Aziraphale, alright?” 

“Would you prefer we didn’t discuss this topic?” 

“Yes, I would.” 

“Alright, some wine then?” Anathema asked, pulling a Cabernet from a nearby table. Crowley nods at her and she fills his now empty glass. “What else is new?” 

“Oh, don’t bother, Anathema. You’ve never been good at small talk.” Crowley scoffed before waving her off and wandering out into the yard. 

**2 hours, and 4 bottles of red wine later:**

“Fucking ridiculous, I tell you.” Crowley muttered into a shrub. The night was no longer young, the people, celestial or otherwise, were no longer sober, and the air was humid with the incoming morning. Crowley sat alone outside the reception tent on the wet grass, ignoring the moisture seeping through his pants. He was leaning up against--but not sitting on--the bench Anathema kept out back to read on, chatting with the foliage. 

“I’m a coward.” He spoke again, hoping the shrub was listening. “I should have just told him. It would have been easier than this.” 

“Crowley?” a voice came, ringing out from the tent, startling Crowley away from the bush. “Are you out here?” 

“Hello? Shrub?” Crowley answered, confused. 

“Crowley?” the voice said again, louder. Much to Crowley’s surprise, he was soon greeted by none other than Aziraphale, looking uncharacteristically disheveled. “What are you doing?” 

“Sitting, talking. Why?” Crowley frowned. 

“Alone?” Aziraphale asked, almost whispering. “Are you alright?” 

“Perfectly fine, why’s it matter?” Crowley asked, averting his gaze. Concern was written all over the angel’s face, and it was making Crowley feel guilty. 

“I’ve been looking for you for an hour.” Aziraphale sighed, walking slowly over to where Crowley was sitting. “You had me worried.” 

“Worried?” 

“I couldn’t find you. I want to apologize.” 

“Why?”

“Because you’ve been avoiding me for weeks, months even. I must have done something to upset you but I haven’t been able to figure out what it might have been, and you haven’t given me an opportunity to ask.” 

“You haven’t done anything, angel.” Crowley sighed, looking down at his hands. The alcohol in his system was making him feel warmer than usual, and the angel’s proximity was not helping. 

Aziraphale breathed out, long and slow, then sat down next to the demon. “Don’t lie to me, Crowley.” 

“Would never.” 

“Then tell me what’s happened.” Aziraphale plead. 

Crowley was silent for a pause, then, “It’s not entirely simple, angel.” 

“Just try.” Aziraphale whispered. 

“We’ve been friends for so long, I don’t want to jeopardize that.” 

“Crowley dear, I assure you that there is nothing you could do to ruin our friendship. I think it’s withstood the test of time at this point.” 

Crowley was quiet for awhile after that, busying himself with his fisted hands, trying to conjure up any possible way to salvage the friendship without admitting his true feelings, but coming up short. 

He looked over it Aziraphale, who had already been watching him, and squeezed his hands tighter together. 

“I need you to stay quiet, and try not to interrupt me.” 

“Oh--okay.” Aziraphale nodded. 

Crowley looked away, then back up again, before taking a deep, steadying breath. “I think I might be in love with you.” He said with an exhale, causing Aziraphale’s jaw to drop. “I talked about it with Anathema back when we went shopping for wedding gowns, and since then I’ve been avoiding you because I didn’t want you to figure it out. You know me better than anyone and you read me quickly and easily just like all of your other books, so I knew I had to put some distance between us before I cracked.” Crowley went on. Aziraphale’s gaze turned from surprise to adoration, but Crowley was too busy rambling to notice the change. “I just knew I couldn’t lose you. Not again, not after what happened with the other angels. I couldn’t lose you and have it be my fault--” 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered.

“Now, I’ve probably gone and fucked it all up anyway--”

“Crowley,” Azriaphale said again, louder. 

“I shouldn’t--what? What, angel?” Crowley blinked, startled again. 

“Stop talking.” 

“Why? You asked me to explain.” 

“Yes, and explain you have.” Aziraphale chuckled gently, before reaching up to place a hand against Crowley’s face. “You oblivious thing, you.” 

“What--Oblivious? Me?” Crowley gasped. 

“Yes you, Crowley. Did you think I’d spent six thousand years around you because I thought you were a great companion? I mean you are a wonderful companion, and an excellent organizer, and in general just good company, but it’s always been so much  _ more than that _ .” 

“More than that? For you? How long?” Crowley gapes, dumbfounded. “What are you saying, angel?” 

“I’m saying I’d fallen in love with you too. You’re just a few thousand years late.” 

“Late?” 

“Oh, don’t worry about it Crowley, you’re always late.” Aziraphale smirks, leaning in close to Crowley. “For almost everything.” 

When their lips met it was soft, perfect, and oddly, too quiet. The heavens didn’t rain down upon them. Hell didn’t rise up beneath them. Everything was just as it was before, and would be after, except for what could be assumed was a loud ‘whooping’ coming from Anathem, somewhere inside the reception tent. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, and for the last time, thank you guys for much for reading. Please, please, leave a comment letting me know what you thought of this story. Whether you've been here since the start, or are just now dropping in, I'd love to hear from you. 
> 
> Love you all so much!! 
> 
> If you'd like to read some of my other works for other fandoms, please check out my author page. For everything else, feel free to join me on twitter @cold-ramen or on tumblr @captain-sass-pants. Okay, thank you again!!! BYE!!!


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